I'm Ashton, I write novels, short-fiction, and have no idea where that yeti went…

Death Co

I’ve been working on one of my oldest stories and rewriting it for later submission. This is the first of many chapters, but chime in and let me know what you think of the tone/content. If you like it, subscribe to get notifications when I post more!

1. Job Description

Let’s see, job qualifications: 1. Must be dead, they’re a real stickler about that one. 2. Preferred to have some legal experience, they’ll let that one slide occasionally if you’re a ‘people person’. 3. Must be just desperate enough to live forever, but also apathetic enough to spend that forever doing paperwork. 4. This one’s the most important of them all, must have a strong constitution when it comes to blood, otherwise the first day would be a real drag.

I don’t even know where to start. What I did, what I still do in a way, is quite a lot to take in. The topic of death tends to conjure images of eternal rest and the infinite abyss, not so much an approximation of an office building just on the edge of time. Years back they had the aesthetics redone to look a bit more imposing, but honestly, it’s all a bit Wall Street for me. The origin of the supernatural mega conglomerate known to most as Death, is a simple one. When shop was first opened all those eons ago, there was only one of us. The world was a lot smaller back then, and the dawn of man a much simpler time. Let’s just say the primitive Neanderthal brain didn’t have a handle on writing, much less appeals paperwork. I didn’t come on the scene until much later, but it’s important to know history so that we don’t repeat ourselves.

In any case, before the dawn of man there wasn’t much need for death. Don’t get me wrong, it still happened, quite a lot of it in fact, but there was no need for the abstract concept of it. To be honest, God didn’t give much of a shit about the dinosaurs, see: Giant asteroid, molten rain, etc., and as a result, their afterlife was non-existent. That worked out pretty well for a while, unless you were one of the pea-brained, brontosauruses floating in the inky blackness, confusedly chewing their last pieces of grass.

Whatever your opinion on the subject, dinosaur rights advocates need not apply, the system worked. Things didn’t get messy until humans came on the scene. Higher order brain functions led to questions. Suffice it to say, the powers that be, Heaven, Hell, Purgatory, have never been very good with questions, and rather than answer them, they voted to create a buffer. It was the only way to keep a watchful eye on the humans while still managing to get uproariously drunk at the inter-departmental parties.

The first question humans asked that the divine sought fit to answer was a simple on. It’s the same question that drives many to the brink of insanity and the cusp of creativity. What happens to us after we die? Ever since our inception, questioning what lies beyond infinity has been one of our driving characteristics. The truth is rather sad; the divine powers haven’t got a clue and are too busy mucking about with climate change to bother trying to figure it out.

So, rather than devoting years to the scholarly pursuit of ethereal knowledge, the buffer of Death was introduced. The great institution of a specter on a white horse was started with a single man, Ug.